


Blood, Pain, and Fire

by Im_Bi_And_Ready_To_Die



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Despair, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, im sorry for the bad writing, kinda hurt and comfort i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 02:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_Bi_And_Ready_To_Die/pseuds/Im_Bi_And_Ready_To_Die
Summary: England during the blitz is in extreme pain and close to death. Who will save him?The summary is crap and I am sorry about that.





	1. Chapter 1

All throughout the city of London hundreds of people were roaming through the streets. It was September 7, 1940, and London had just been bombed. If you had seen this man on the streets you would assume that his heartbroken expression was a product of his home being destroyed. But, little would you know that he was the personification of the nation England.   
England felt like he was on fire. It hurt, hurt so much. All he knew was pain, fire, and blood. He had to get somewhere safe, he had to be strong. He felt like breaking down crying and screaming at the injustice of it all. His people, HIS PEOPLE, were dying and crying out for someone to save them but there was nobody. It had started raining, but England was too far inside his mind to care. The people were utterly terrified and he could feel all of their pain and fear. But, he couldn’t let it show. He had to be like iron for his people, strong and unbreakable. Iron can rust though, it can break, but he can’t afford to. He turned on his heel and apparated out of there. Into an empty house filled with memories of a time when everything was golden, or at least happier. England could clearly recall America’s and Canada’s younger years when their laughter rang throughout the house. America getting into some of the most ridiculous hijinks and dragging Canada with him. Canada was the trickster of the two and always trying to prank his younger brother and England. He was wrenched back to reality by his heart literally burning as he collapsed on the floor. London was his capital, his heart but it had been destroyed. England let out an inhuman scream that would have made someone’s blood curl, but no one was there. He broke down crying and sobbing where no one could see him be weak. Him, England, the British Empire. Even bigger than the Roman Empire at the height of their power was breaking. England let out a series of heart-wrenching screams as he felt the skin over his heart bubble and blister, but at the very least Buckingham Palace was not destroyed. It was bombed but still was standing and, thank god for small mercies. If it had been destroyed… England didn’t want to find out. He felt like he was being burned on the stake, and hoped it wouldn’t happen again... But he wasn’t so naive to think that the Nazis would stop bombing London, not until it was rubble. As he slowly slipped into unconsciousness he hoped that someone would find him and care.


	2. Chapter 2

America burst into England’s house, making quite a mess with his sopping rain-soaked hair and boots. “England, I came as fast as I could I saw the city. I’m so sorry, are you okay?” America said, all in one breath. When he got no reply, he cautiously ventured further into the house.   
“England?” America rounded a corner of the entranceway.  
“I-Iggy…” America whispered, seeing the older nation crumpled on the ground. “I didn’t think it would be this bad…”  
There was a part of the country that, against his better judgment, wanted to sob. Maybe it was foolish, but he wanted to embrace the man that had gifted him so much–it was unsettling, seeing such a person in their darkest hour–and promise it would be alright and that he was there for him, even if the odds were against them.  
“Want” is different than “what”, though.  
So what America did was stare at England, trying to put on the brave face he had seen on many times before. Something felt wrong when he scooped his adoptive brother up into his arms, and then he realized what was the matter: he was taller than the United Kingdom. Three hundred years ago, that would’ve been a joke–England would’ve been messing around and America would have laughed and laughed all day because everyone knows that big brothers are called so for a reason. However, that wasn’t the case anymore; America could now tuck the once greater man into bed like a child with the flu.  
Memories began to resurface as he stared at England’s inert body, memories of how England used to do the same to him, how his green eyes would gaze softly at him when he was young, before the revolution tore them apart, and then the World Wars separated them further.   
“Iggyyyyy, tell me a story!” America squirmed under the thick blankets he was laying under, and looked up at England with impossibly wide, sparkling eyes.   
“But then you’ll never go to sleep,” England chided.   
“Pleeeeease?” America pleaded, begging England with his eyes.   
“Okay,” England sighed, watching the smaller country giggle in delight. “Once upon a time, there were two nations walking in a newly discovered land. They were arguing over who would have possession of it, when they both spotted the young personification of the country. One of the nations started luring the country to come under his care with a myriad of French dishes and delicacies, but the other nation, realizing he had nothing to offer, sat down and sobbed. There seemed to be nothing he could do to get the small country to choose him… Then he felt a hand on his elbow, and sharply looked up to see the country looking at him with concerned blue eyes. The country had chosen him. Him, over the other nation that could offer so much more. He hugged the little one, feeling happier then he had in a while.” England finished his story with a smile.   
“That’s a weeeeird story,” America said, oblivious to the fact that this was the tale of how he became the British Colonies.   
America was snapped out of his reverie by England’s breathing becoming ragged in his sleep. Though unconscious, America could tell England was in a lot of pain, and he felt so helpless watching and not being able to do anything.   
“Okay, come on me, I can do this. I-I’m the hero. Everything will be fine.” His voice cracked, and he wondered exactly who he was saying this to.   
“Tea. Tea makes everything better right?” America rushed into the kitchen and started to make tea, despite his lack of knowledge on how to. He mostly just grabbed what he assumed was a kettle, put some water inside, then put it on the stove to boil. He had to pretend everything was perfectly fine, not just for England but for himself too. He couldn’t accept the fact that the one he cared for most in the world… might not be okay. It would break him. 

It was just herbal tea, a “calming and soothing blend” -he wasn’t entirely sure if that was true, it’s what the package said- but his hands still shook as he carried it to England’s room.   
What if England doesn’t wake up, thought a dark corner of his mind. His capital was attacked, his heart. What if it’s worse than it seems. Setting down the tea on a nearby shelf, America stopped to clear his head. No. He couldn’t think like that. England was always the level headed one, but now America had to be in his place. America picked up the tea and walked into England’s room, sitting down on an old chair by the nightstand.   
“England, please wake up...Iggy... please, please wake up!” America felt a tear leak out from behind his glasses, but he didn’t care.   
“Please…” America wiped the tears from his eyes but froze when he heard a soft, breathy laugh.  
“Out of everyone, of course it had to be you to find me, you idiot” America took his hands away from his face, unable to believe what he was seeing. Emerald green eyes, a bit dulled with pain but shining nonetheless, were staring back at him. For a second, America forgot what had just happened, forgot that England was hurt, and he hugged England tightly, only stopping when England said, “Ow! Stop!”   
“Oh, sorry, sorry… It’s just that you’re alive, and-” America broke off when he realized he was crying fresh tears, but not form sadness. From joy.   
“Ah, fine. Come here.” England held out his arms, and America hugged him again, this time being careful not to crush the already injured Nation.   
“Did you really think that just a few bombs could kill me?”  
“No… Maybe… It’s just that it was your capital, and I was worried, and-” America was cut off by England starting to laugh again.  
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” England said, telling a slight lie for America’s sake. He knew this wouldn’t be the worst, or the last of the bombings, but he also knew his people were resourceful. They would rebuild. He could pull through.   
America curled up in the bed beside England, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. England smiled lovingly at who he would always think of as his little America, and started to sing a lullaby he hadn’t thought about for 300 years. 

“Just close your eyes, the sun is going down,   
You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now,   
Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound.”


End file.
